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Brian looked up, met his gaze over the gleaming black line of the tonfa.
I wish I could read minds, Bri. I wish I could read yours.
Brian smiled, faintly, and cut his eyes to TJ. They d both missed some lines.
 We re tracing the lines! So keep your babies hidden!
We follow your signs! (Like what you wash your kid in!)
Better watch! That! Midden!
Brian raised his hand.  What s a  midden ?
 A medieval& where they dumped their chamber pots.
 You expect your audience to know that? I didn t have a clue.
 Well you have to mix some highbrow with the lowbrow to keep everyone s interest.
Bri shook his head.  Why should only the highbrows in the audience know your
characters bathe their children in septic tanks?
Roy made the time-out sign.  He s right, TJ. Shouldn t a fact like that be pretty crucial
to your plotline?
 Don t be dense! TJ rapped his tonfa on the dull metal side of the coffee machine.  By
 midden I mean the culture, TV and games, that they -- dammit! Just let it rhyme, okay?
 Forbidden is a rhyme, Roy observed.  Sit-in is a rhyme, or close enough. Ridden. Did
in. Bitten, even. Reanimating some archaic word for a sewer and sticking it in the mouths of
gang members who would never think in those terms is a crime. Hey, Joe, can you arrest
him?
98 Amber Green
He hid a smile behind his coffee cup.  I m outside my jurisdiction.
 And if you weren t my boss I d tell you to shut up. TJ struck his pose again.  Now,
with your permission! Kick
Yup -- definitely a kick for every exclamation point.
 Tiburón s hard to sate! So we re gonna eat!
Every last vertebrate -- ! Be it rich! Be it sweet!
Chunks or whole! Bleeding -- ! Lonely -- ! Squealing -- !
Sweeeeet!!!!!
He held his tonfa overhead and snapped kicks like he was out for the world
championship freestyle cancan crown.
Joe bit the corners of his mouth to hide his grin.
TJ collapsed abruptly onto the couch, which failed to break. Wasn t as flimsy as it
looked, maybe. He mopped his forehead and neck with a paper towel.  So what do you
think? Should I add more Spanish? Or is it good like it is?
 Perfect, Brian said, deadpan.  I wouldn t change a word.
The Huntsmen: Bareback 99
Chapter Thirteen
After the broadcast, Joe vetoed a suggestion to head out for breakfast and then home.
Nevada s condo, a low-rise, wasn t secure. Summer and Roy s houseboat was worse. Singer
Island was too far off, and the efficiency condo there wouldn t hold Nevada along with
Summer (who refused to leave her), Roy (who refused to leave Summer), and any two people
who might be capable of guarding them.
Nat yawned.  What s your idea, LT?
She never called him that. At the not-so-subtle reference to his authority, the others
quieted down. He sighed.  High-rise hotel. Someplace uptown here. We ll need to split up,
say three rooms or a room and a suite, but neither of the twins can be left alone. Not safe.
Twenty minutes later, he showed Bri how to work a magnetic card key and opened a
stuffy but very secure hotel room. Nat was with the twins next door, and their room had an
adjoining door to the room TJ shared with Roy.
He set a bag of bagels and mangoes on the counter. He didn t look forward to peeling
mangoes with his good pocketknife, but Bri s face had lit up when they passed the aromatic
fruit stand. Getting that kind of look out of him was worth cleaning mango juice out of the
hinges of a pocketknife.
Brian limped to the near bed, using the crutch more like a cane, and flopped across the
spread.  AC. Pleeease!
Joe turned it on full blast. He looked down at the morning traffic, too far below to hear.
After a moment, Brian asked,  How thick are these walls?
 Not very. He yawned. He felt like he weighed five hundred pounds. I m not twenty
years old.
 So when we decide to work up a sweat, we need to turn on the TV, huh?
100 Amber Green
 I m going to disappoint you. I got just about enough energy left to stagger back to the
bed. He pulled off his shirt overhead and ripped open the Velcro straps of his bullet vest.
Can t drop the vest on the floor. Carpet fibers clog up the Velcro.
He felt stupid as well as heavy. Not floor. Chair. Hope I don t sleep through any
emergency. Guess I ll have to hope Bri sleeps lightly.
Bri sleeps naked. The thought came from somewhere so deep it might as well be Low
Joe talking.
Low Joe moved, stretching.
Go to sleep, you! But his mind s eye saw Brian, and Low Joe pumped against his fly.
Brian. What am I going to do about you?
Brian s voice came from behind him.  Which bed?
He turned, and stopped in mid-yawn.
Brian lounged naked on the bedspread, smiling.
Whoa& Tiredness dissolved like salt in water. Paint that body and he d make a perfect
statue. Little body hair. Less body fat. Compact but well-defined muscles. In the middle of all
that perfection, his ball sac draped across one thigh and his cock lolled, slightly curled, on his
taut belly.
Brian laughed.  A spark of life! Hurray! But you re still overdressed for this party.
 Lower your voice.
He wasn t circumcised. Why does that keep surprising me? He wasn t circumcised
before, either.
Bri shifted, moving his weight off the blue-black bruises covering his left thigh. The
kind of deep bruising that shouldn t show up for another half-day or more. His facial bruises
had faded, leaving no more than a bit of a black eye and a yellowish smudge. You re a really
fast healer, Brian Thomas Gardner.
Bri smiled.  My voice is very low. Come closer and see how low I can go.
 No.
Bri flinched, and flushed. The smile dropped away as it had -- yesterday? No, the day
before -- in the doorway of the weight room.
Foot in mouth.  What I mean is it s your turn.
Bri frowned, looking sideways back at him.  My turn?
Joe kicked off his shoes and knelt by the bed.  How did someone as gorgeous as you get
so insecure?
Bri swallowed, his throat visibly working.
Joe leaned in and teased himself with the faint, clean smell of Brian s skin, the fainter
promise of musk.
The Huntsmen: Bareback 101
Bri squirmed.  Don t smell me. I tried to wash off the hospital reek, but the club
doesn t have much of a washroom for guys. I know I still stink.
 No, you don t. He didn t smell of the club either. Not that he d have been able to
enjoy a lap dance with half his lap too bruised to take any weight.
Brian s shaft looked soft and fat, crisscrossed with myriad wrinkles. His foreskin. Guys
Bri s age were not routinely clipped as babies like everyone my age was. The head peeking
out was the same deep pink as Bri s full lips -- and looked like a freshly licked lip, as opposed
to Low Joe s finely sueded texture.
Joe reached out to heft Bri s balls. The sac felt warm in his hand. He cupped it
protectively, and the soft, heavy eggs inside it stirred.
Bri made a small humming noise, and spread his legs.
 Hold still. How did my voice get so hoarse?
 Yes, sir.
 Shut up. Joe traced upward from ball sac to cock, and toyed with the crinkled skin.
The cock within swelled at his touch, smoothing wrinkles as it lengthened. Catching a bit of
the foreskin between his index finger and the next one, he jacked it up and down Brian s
hardening shaft.
Bri hissed and arched his back.
 Too hard?
Bri nodded, eyes closed, face turned away.
Joe gentled his touch. The shaft lost its hint of a curve, and kept swelling.
Soon the foreskin didn t reach. He pumped gently, moving the skin as far as it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]